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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874043">dog days of summer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain'>englishsummerrain</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, post-enlistment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:01:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, Donghyuck comes home</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>BBBFest Ongoing: Don't Forget You're Here Forever</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dog days of summer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Donghyuck enlists on what Mark dubs 'the most humid fucking day of his life'. All of 127 are there. From Dream, there’s only Jisung. </p><p>It’s not a matter of proximity. They're in Korea — all of them except Chenle. Jeno and Jaemin go later than him, and Renjun is probably at home, but Donghyuck doesn't want to push his luck. He doesn’t want to twist the blade, or let himself hope. So only Jisung comes along — only Jisung wraps him in his arms and squeezes him tight, now far too large for a boy who'd once slept in a cardboard box because Jeno had bet him to. </p><p>Years ago they'd all promised they'd be there when they said goodbye. Renjun had promised him twice. Once with everyone else, shot in hand, soju on the table (bottle and a spill — Jisung had already had far too much. He was trying to kiss Mark at that point.) </p><p>Once by himself. Donghyuck had pulled the duvet over their heads like they were little kids, and Renjun had sworn black and blue that he'd walk across the ocean floor if it meant he was there for him. </p><p>"They're not locking me up," Donghyuck had said. "It's not the last time you'll ever see me." </p><p>Renjun had taken his hands in his and looked him in the eyes and said something stupid like he wanted to witness it so he knew he had 18 months of Donghyuck free time, for real, or something, and Donghyuck had known it was a lie. The white knuckle grip of his hands — the implications in everything. </p><p>(I'll be there because we've known each other for twelve years, and it still doesn't feel like enough.)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Donghyuck gets out of the military on a nondescript Thursday in the middle of September, sky gunmetal grey, temperature sixteen degrees, army fatigues on and rucksack filled with what amounts to all his worldly possessions as he hails a taxi. He throws it into the back seat and pulls his hat down, taking out his phone and spinning it around in his hand. </p><p>"On break?" The driver asks. </p><p>"Discharged," he says. </p><p>"Congratulations. You heading home?" </p><p>Donghyuck pauses for a second, looking at his unread Kakao notifications. </p><p>"Yeah. Something like that." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It all seems like a colossally stupid idea once he’s standing in front of the front door to Renjun’s apartment, bag on the floor, hand hovering over the keypad, but then again Donghyuck has never been known for his good choices. </p><p>Actually, he’s not really sure what he <em> has </em> been known for. </p><p>(Running away, maybe. Not being good enough for 127, and certainly not being good enough for Dream.)</p><p>He keys in Renjun's door code. </p><p>1-9-0-3-1-6.</p><p>The door beeps and the light turns green.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He'd thought enlistment would have helped in some way with the fear that gripped his insides. He'd thoughtful forceful separation might have cured him of his want, but it was like somehow it had made it worse. It was like being surrounded by all these bodies and dealing with all this aching tiredness deep in his bones and the shitty base food and sitting watching music shows on the TV and being aware of the people who shot him looks because they <em> knew </em> he was an idol, because he was too old to be here, too pretty, perfect skin, perfect nose — it was like it only served to amplify it all. The awareness of what could and could not be. What he was supposed to have, and what he wasn't — because he couldn't allow himself to think about Renjun. </p><p>Because he'd put on another mask and crawled through the mud and shot a gun for the first time in his life and done all the other things they'd probably tell him should have fixed him, but in the end it had only sharpened the ache in his heart.</p><p>It was like everything there led to this.</p><p>Pushing open the front door. There's music playing, some Chinese ballad. Steam floating through the air, and Renjun is singing — of course. His back is to Donghyuck and he's swaying — big t-shirt, sweatpants, his bright pink slippers that Jeno had gifted him as a gag. The slope of his shoulders is gentle and his hair is long and shaggy and his legs are pale — it's been months since he's had a public schedule.</p><p>Donghyuck knows because he kept up with him, and it all hits him in that moment. Like a fist in the chest, a great whoosh. He feels dizzy, and he has to brace his free hand on the wall, just for a second, because it's so much to realise.</p><p>Eighteen months didn't do anything. There was no softening of the edges, no purge of his system. There was just something that had always been a part of him, and as the door closes behind him it's like it comes back, like a ghost hanging onto his back, like by entering Renjun's home he's closing the circuit again.</p><p>He takes a breath. He takes his shoes off and leaves his bag on the floor. He hangs his hat up, the pixelated camouflage looking ridiculous next to all of Renjun's designer brands.</p><p>Then he walks forward. He walks through Renjun's home, and he calls out his name.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"What're you doing here?" Renjun asks. He's leaning against the countertop, pot bubbling away behind him. His expression is unreadable — that kind of carefully practiced blankness that Donghyuck knows could hide anything below. Bringing down the shutters while he processed things —  while he decided what was right for him to show.</p><p>"I got out early," Donghyuck says, which is the truth. He had. But he'd also known about it for almost a month, and had let no-one know.</p><p>"Evidently."</p><p>The music is turned down and he's still standing in the middle of the kitchen, feeling like an intruder. He doesn't know if he should turn around and leave. This feels like folly, misguided stupidity.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he says, and he hopes it comes off sincere. "For not saying goodbye, I mean."</p><p>Renjun's face collapses, just for a fraction of a second, then knits back up, perfectly still. He gives Donghyuck a small smile and looks away. "Yeah, well. I get it."</p><p>"I didn't want to hurt you."</p><p>"Well you fucking failed at that, didn’t you?"</p><p>There's no venom in Renjun's voice, but it stings all the same. Sword through the heart, knife in the ribs, the way only Renjun can hurt him, because he knows all the spots he's vulnerable. Because he's held him and smoothed his fingers over them and promised to protect him, and when you know someone like that — well.</p><p>Donghyuck shuts his mouth. He swallows, hard.</p><p>"I didn't want you to feel hurt," he says. “When it ended up being that you didn't see me.” </p><p>"How was I supposed to feel, then?" Renjun says. It's still quiet. "You were in my bed the night before, and then you left without a goodbye. What does that say, Donghyuck?"</p><p>"That I'm a coward?"</p><p>Renjun huffs. The lid of the pot behind him startles to rattle, and he turns down the stovetop.</p><p>"Yeah," he says. "And that you have a lot of gall to show up here."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Donghyuck says. Renjun turns away, going back to his cooking. It takes everything in Donghyuck not to wrap his arms around his waist and press his face into his hair, to breathe him in and kiss his neck.</p><p>"Sorry for what? For telling me you loved me? For living in my house for four years? For not calling? For not even <em> asking </em> if I wanted to see you one last time before you fucking disappear?"</p><p>"All of that," Donghyuck says, and then: what he's thought for a long time. For nights and nights, days and days, every time he's looked at Renjun. Every time he thought of him. Lying in his bunk in the barracks, groans and snores and racket around him, wishing he had a body pressed up against his.</p><p>Watching all the other men in his platoon greet their girlfriends and kiss them.</p><p>Donghyuck doesn't get to do that. He'll never get to. A love that happened in secret — behind closed doors and in dim lit rooms. His heart is a burden. Every day he sat in the barracks and wished he could call Renjun and tell him what he was thinking about — and that was a burden, too. He’d had no choice but to shoulder it alone.</p><p>"I'm sorry for all of that, and I’m sorry for loving you."</p><p>Renjun's shoulders slump. "No," he says. "You're not allowed to apologise for that."</p><p>"I'm sorry for being ashamed of loving you," he amends.</p><p>"Donghyuck," Renjun says, and it comes choked. Thick and wet, like so many goodbyes they've said before. Except this isn't a goodbye. It should be a hello. "You can't say that. You can't fucking waltz back in here and say that. You're not allowed to be ashamed of loving <em> anyone</em>. Even me."</p><p>He feels fucking stupid, standing in this kitchen, surrounded by everything Renjun owns, his photos pinned to the fridge, grocery lists and etcetera. 2030 and it feels like 2020, like when he used to go over to the Dream dorm and lie in Renjun's bed for hours on end, warm press of his body, their legs tangled together, something delicate pressing against the edges of his heart, filling him from the inside out.</p><p>Renjun, the one who lights up the world.</p><p>“Yeah,” he starts, but Renjun interrupts him.</p><p>"It's okay," he says. He braces his hands on the counter and takes a breath, then turns around. Predictably, his eyes are wet. "It’s okay. Just — god, I didn’t expect you to be here. Even when you got discharged, I thought you’d go back to the dorm. I hadn’t—" He cuts himself off and glances away, eyes glassy. "Anyway. If you’re here you should get changed. Your clothes are still in the closet. I'll get you some food."</p><p>And Donghyuck agrees. He nods, numb, and then he walks the path he’s walked a hundred times before, splintered ribs, bleeding out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Donghyuck stays much longer in Renjun's bedroom than he should. Not because he's lost, or he can't find his clothes, not because he's going through Renjun’s things. Just because — after he changes into his track pants and a shirt that smells like Renjun's cologne — when he goes to walk back out he hears Renjun's sobs coming from the kitchen. </p><p>It makes his heart feel like it's being crushed like a chestnut in a vice, but he knows Renjun sent him away for a reason. He knows he needs to give him time.</p><p>So he sits down on the bed and spreads his hands out on the sheets. He picks up the book Renjun's reading and puts it down when he realises it's in Chinese, almost knocking a picture frame off the bedside table. He catches it with the tips of his fingers, and his heart is in his throat, because he doesn’t even need to look at it to know what picture it is.</p><p>He almost doesn’t want to flip it over, but Renjun is sobbing outside the door, and this is a cinder of hope. A tiny glowing seed that Donghyuck grasps in his hand. </p><p>The two of them. It’s an old photo — one Donghyuck had been delegated to getting in actual print, because in typical Gen-Z fashion neither of them knew how to get a digital photo on photo paper — faded by the years it’s spent on the bedside table. Taken by Kun when they were shooting From Home — a true lifetime ago. Renjun’s hand around his waist. Two smiles, golden sunset light. The ocean waves and wet sand. </p><p>There are fingerprints on the glass — marks where Renjun has wiped away the dust. One smudge over Donghyuck’s face</p><p>Donghyuck sets it back down. Proof enough, he supposes, that maybe this was the right choice.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Renjun’s eyes are red and his cheeks are wet and the both of them pretend that he hadn’t been crying, even as he chokes a little when he spoons the stew into Donghyuck’s bowl. Donghyuck thanks him and doesn’t kiss him, though he reaches out and brushes his fingers against Renjun’s, and Renjun hiccups, smiling, shattering his heart into pieces.</p><p>They sit on the couch together, at opposite ends, and Renjun doesn’t touch his food. He sets it down on top of a magazine on the coffee table, and Donghyuck mimics him, not wanting to burn his mouth.</p><p>"By all rights I should hate you," Renjun says, after a few seconds of silence. "Or be angry. I don't know."</p><p>"I kind of wanted you to. Thought it might help."</p><p>“Yeah, well,” Renjun says. “We both know I’m fucking stupid.”</p><p>“If this was a stupid competition, you know I’d be the winner.”</p><p>At that, Renjun bursts into tears.</p><p>Donghyuck doesn’t know what to do for a second. His instinct is comfort, he doesn’t know if he’s allowed this. Is he allowed to touch Renjun? Is he allowed to be near him? It’s like all their rules are thrown out of balance — like Donghyuck had taken a lighter to them and burned the list.</p><p>In the end he can’t sit there while Renjun cries his eyes out. There are some things greater than fear. There is love, and Donghyuck is still full of it. He can’t see Renjun cry — not when it’s from him and his own stupidity. </p><p>He shuffles along the couch and puts a hand on Renjun’s arm, and when Renjun doesn’t shrug him off he wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him against him.</p><p>And Renjun lets him. He fists a hand in his shirt and breathes deep and he curses, as he always does. Every time he cries — always the worst of them. Him and Jisung, making up for the fact Chenle had always told them he’d had his tear ducts surgically removed at age thirteen.</p><p>“You can’t just walk back into my life like this, Donghyuck,” Renjun says. “You can’t just play pretend.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Donghyuck says, and it’s true. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. I’d be shit if I did.”</p><p>Renjun sniffs, curling his hand into a fist and tapping it against Donghyuck’s chest. “You’re already pretty shit.”</p><p>“Well, yeah.”</p><p>There’s a pause. Renjun wipes his nose on Donghyuck’s shirt, and Donghyuck doesn’t complain.</p><p>“I thought you were breaking up with me,” Renjun says. </p><p>An arrow straight through the gut. Slicing Donghyuck open, and maybe at another point he would have joked, but this is so raw — so serious, that he opens his mouth and the truth floods out like blood.</p><p>“I thought eighteen months of doing my duty to my country would have made me straight,” he says.</p><p>Renjun is silent. He’s silent for a long time, and the longer it stretches on the more Donghyuck thinks that he’s made a mistake. The more he thinks that he’s about to spend the night sleeping on Mark’s couch — and how fucking embarrassing would that be.</p><p>Instead, eventually, Renjun sits up. He stares at Donghyuck, just for a second, and it’s the last thing Donghyuck sees before Renjun kisses him. It’s a long kiss — something fierce — and Donghyuck has missed him so much he doesn’t know what to do at first. He just shuts his eyes and allows it, holding onto Renjun for dear life.</p><p>“Baobei,” Renjun murmurs, breath hot, lips wet. Donghyuck’s eyes are still closed. He’s scared if he opens them Renjun will disappear. “You fool. You poor fool.” </p><p>He kisses him, again, and Donghyuck allows himself this. He cups Renjun’s jaw, so fucking afraid he thinks he’s about to break into pieces.</p><p>He’d hoped and he’d hoped, but deep down he’d never wanted it to be true.</p><p>“It didn’t work,” Donghyuck says, turning his face away. The room is filled with the smell of Renjun’s cooking. The smell of home. “Just in case you were wondering.”</p><p>“Is it selfish to say I’m glad?”</p><p>“No,” Donghyuck says. He inhales, deep. “I’m glad, too.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the end, Donghyuck doesn’t tell anyone he’s back for six days. He also doesn’t leave Renjun’s apartment, and neither does Renjun — which isn’t out of the ordinary. When they order takeout one night Donghyuck goes to pay Renjun for it and then remembers he has no money, and then his heart seizes when he sees the empty spot where the picture should be in his wallet. He stands up and goes to the drawer in the spare bedroom. </p><p>It’s filled with photo booth photos — an entire lifetime of them. Not just him and Renjun, but Renjun and everyone. Jaemin, particularly, is prominent. Old habits die hard. Old traditions — old things they used to do with Dream. Donghyuck gets lost looking at them, marvelling at how young they used to be, and eventually Renjun comes through and wraps his arms around his waist, nuzzling his face against his neck.</p><p>“I took it out because I didn’t want anyone to make fun of me,” Donghyuck explains, holding up a series of photos they’d taken in ridiculous ‘Happy 2024’ hats. “But I lost it and I don’t know what to put back in there.”</p><p>Renjun hums. The original photo had been <em> old </em> — from when they were practicing for The Dream Show. Just like the photo on Renjun’s bedside table — sentimental, the two of them. The longer it remained the more memory it was steeped in, and the more memory it had the less he wanted to replace it. </p><p>“We could take a new one?” he offers. “I mean, when you’re officially back in the world.” He runs a hand through Donghyuck’s buzz cut. “And maybe when your hair grows back.”</p><p>“You don’t like this look on me?”</p><p>“I loved you even when you shaved half your eyebrow off,” Renjun says. “But I thought you might want to wait.”</p><p>“I don’t mind,” Donghyuck says. He doesn’t mention that he’d almost cried when Mark had buzzed off his hair the morning before he enlisted, and if Renjun knows he doesn’t mention it either.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the end Donghyuck calls Mark the day before he’s ‘supposed’ to be discharged and casually tells him he’s standing outside his apartment building, and why’d they change the door code, and there’s so much yelling on the other end he thinks he’s about to have his ears blown out. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the end: Donghyuck comes home</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://twitter.com/dongrenle">twt</a><br/> </p><p>spare thoughts? &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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